One Last Goodbye
by Vanr
Summary: Dean died, Dean became a demon. But time passes differently in Hell, and just a few moments on Earth are years down in the pit. When Dean came back as a demon, it was after a heaping second dose of Hell, but one that was slightly different than the first. Continuation of the S9 finale, spoilers to those who haven't seen it.
1. One Last Goodbye

**A/N: That finale! Oh my goodness, the feels! ARGH! **

**This was something that my friend, ToTheOnionCaves pointed out when we were freaking out over the finale together. This is chapter one of that exciting idea. Yes, there will be more than this, this is literally just being uploaded because Dean!feels and Demon!Dean.**

**Disclaimer: I am not Erik Kripke, nor do I own or work for Supernatural. If I did, there sure would be a lot more Destiel.**

**_Note: I tried to be as accurate as I could, but the transcript isn't up yet and I had rely mostly on ear for the dialogue. _**

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The first time Metatron's fist landed in his stomach, Dean took it with easy grace. The Mark and the Blade still fuelled him, and he was still reeling from that high as he swung his own fist back and struck out at the elderly-looking angel.

His fist collided easily, and Metatron laughed, seemingly delighted. His mouth opened, and words spilled out, but Dean couldn't focus on the words. Just getting the Blade in a position where he could kill the son of a bitch and then get _rid_ of the Blade forever. No wonder Cain had hidden it so well.

He found an opening and swung it at Metatron's head, but Metatron caught his arm and shoved him back into the wall. Dean flew up and backwards, striking the wall with a painful thump. He grunted, then shoved himself onto a kneeling position just in time to receive a heavy boot to the ribs and stomach. He hissed, and Metatron threw him against another wall, relishing the pained grunt that escaped from Dean's lips.

Dean leaned against the wall and tried to stand, to plunge the Blade into Metatron's chest, but Metatron pushed him to ground. Voice grating against Dean's ears, Metatron talked and hit Dean in the face repeatedly. His wrist had been broken when Metatron stepped on it, and the Blade was farther away than he could reach.

Metatron's fist collided with his face. Again. And Again. Dean had been focusing on getting his Blade, but now his attention wavered. He was losing consciousness, he was losing. Metatron smirked, then hit him again, watching with glee as Dean took much longer to revive from the hit than he normally did. When Dean's tired, bloodshot eyes lifted, Metatron's silent glee turned into a louder chuckle.

Dean used the brief moment of distraction he was offered. His hand curled into a fist, and the First Blade flew into his waiting palm. He allowed himself a brief moment of triumph before everything went to shit.

Metatron was still an angel, and he still had an angel blade, which Dean seemed to have forgotten. He certainly remembered that useful bit of trivia when Metatron shoved the sharp tip into his chest.

He gasped, looking up at Metatron with an almost pleading expression. Metatron laughed and twisted the blade inside Dean's chest, ripping open wider the entry wound and puncturing his lung as he did so.

He couldn't breath, was his first thought, as the angel pulled the blade free and Dean collapsed to the ground, too weak to hold his position. He couldn't breath and he was dying and _shit_, where was Sammy? Dean forced his battered eyes open, and, lo and behold, there was Sammy, staring at Dean with a heartbroken, grief-stricken face. Oh, God.

Dean swallowed tightly. There was no reason to give Sam false hope. Dean was dying, he could already feel the strength leaving him along with the blood leaking out of his mouth, face, and chest.

"Sammmy," he groaned, and was a little surprised to hear how sluggish and weak his voice sounded. He could barely breathe, too, and his voice was little more than a hoarse rasp. "We gotta get outta here… before he comes back." He took a deep breath, wincing and letting out a tiny moan as a slow burning sensation spread through his chest. He was dying, he knew it, there was no way around it.

"Shut up, just shut up." Sam ordered desperately, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it tightly against the gaping hole in Dean's chest. The effort was laughable, but Dean went along with it, holding the red cloth in place with a trembling, shaky hand. "Save your energy, alright?"

Dean tried to say something, but it was drowned in a cry of pain as Sam's fingers touched his chest. The fire grew hotter in his chest, and he was surprised the short cry was enough. But he'd always silenced himself around Sammy, maybe he hadn't changed.

Sam, in turn, spoke even quicker and "We're going to get you to a doctor, or find a spell, you're going to be okay." Dean moaned, and Sam was there in an instant, touching his shoulder, his head, his knee, everywhere, really, that wasn't bleeding.

"Lis'n t'me," Dean moaned. His voice was getting harder to control, he could feel every spec of energy it took to move his offending tongue and mouth, but still, he needed to get some things out, and he knew he had at least a couple minutes. "It's better this way," he hissed, breathing hard where he could and trying to ignore the giant black spots forming in his vision.

"What?" Sam sounded shocked, disbelieved. Dean didn't understand; Sam knew better than anyone what the Mark was doing to him. Couldn't Sam see that it was better for Dean to die than become nothing better than a demon?

"The Mark-" he gasped, trying to keep awake. With every passing second, his eyelids got heavier and heavier. He knew what that meant. _Come on, Sammy!_ "It's makin' me into somethin' I don' wanna be." His chest heaved with the effort, and suddenly, he was afraid.

He didn't want to die. Not really. He didn't wanna leave Cas, or Sam, or Gadreel, goddamnit. He didn't want to be that _useless_, to have been their only chance and then died before getting the damned job done. That was _pathetic_, and Dean's breath hitched as a small surge of adrenaline kicked in, allowing him to use more of his own strength and look Sammy in the eyes.

Soon later, however, his eyes drifted to the First Blade in his hand and the Mark of Cain. He didn't want to deal with this anymore. None of it. Dean Winchester was tired, and it was about time he went to sleep.

"Don't worry about the Mark. We'll figure out the Mark later," Sam begged, hands fisting in Dean's plaid shirt. "Just hold on, okay?"

Sam pulled Dean's arm over his shoulder, and tried to pull the older hunter to his feet. Dean cried out, and Sam almost faltered. He sounded so vulnerable, so pained. But he bit lip and continued, even though Dean's legs faltered underneath him and couldn't support his own weight as Sam half carried, half dragged him away toward the Impala.

"What 'appened to you bein' okay with this?" Dean breathed softly, unable to speak any stronger or louder. The stumbling along was taking too much of a toll on him.

"I lied," Sam told him, glancing quickly at his older brother's face to see what their chances were.

"Ain't that a bitch," Dean whispered with the ghost of a smile curving his lips as he stumbled forward. Blood dripped from his head into his eyes, his mouth, onto his shirt, into his hair. He could feel it drying on his skin, and figured that, at the moment, there was probably just as much blood on the floor and on his skin as there was inside his actual body, where it should be. He blinked, hard, and continued walking.

Dean tried to go with it, he really did. But his chest hurt too much, his head was swimming, and Dean knew that at this rate, he would be dead before they reached his car. He abruptly stopped grunting in exertion and pain, pulling Sam off to the side as he rested against a metal box and tried to get enough air into his failing system for one last goodbye.

He panted for breath, no longer able to keep it silent. Sam was desperately hyperventilating next to him, but he was twice as slow and twice as loud, gasping for every breathful of oxygen. Oh, _god,_ it hurt.

"I gotta say something," Dean whispered, so quietly and with so little strength that Sam had to lean in close to hear it. Dean felt blood dripping from his mouth, and felt the life leaking out of his chest as he took his final gasping breaths. He smiled, lifted one arm up to Sam's face, which was a herculean effort. He let his fingers rest against Sam's hot cheek, and felt himself growing limp and he leaned more and more heavily on what support Sam was offering. "'M proud…. of… ussss…" he finished, suddenly aware of how heavy and stiff his tongue was. He let loose one last, lingering sigh, then tipped forward, only dimly aware of what was going on.

The last sensations of Earth he felt was Sam cradling his head in his arms and whispering, in a heart wrenchingly devastated voice, "No, no, hey hey hey hey hey. Wake up, buddy! Hey! Dean…. Dean!" He heard Sam's breathing hitch as he tried not to cry, and felt Sam tip Dean's head back and check for a pulse. Right before he did so, his heart stopped beating and his failing lungs stopped breathing, his consciousness slipped away, and at last, Dean Winchester was at peace.


	2. One of Us

**A/N: Wooooowwwww! I was _not_ expecting anything approaching the response I've gotten! I don't think I've ever gotten as many favourites or follows on anything I've ever written! Thank you soooo much!**

**To all the reviewers (all three of you): Thank you, and I'm sorry/notsorry for giving you Dean feels. **

**I had my various doubts about this chapter... but whatever. I might extend this beyond the finale, but I make no promises. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. **

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When Dean's eyes opened again, it was upon a familiar, charred crimson and burnt black scene. Hell. Just as hot, just as miserable, just as painful as before. But this time, there was no way he could get out, seeing as every angel either hated him or was dying. Oh, and none of them had wings anymore. He gritted his teeth, but did not permit any other reaction. _Save it for later, Winchester,_ he berated himself.

If it was any consolation, he was probably the only human to come back to Hell as a human, although, glancing at the Mark still burned into his arm, he wasn't really sure how human he was anymore.

When a demon showed up, knife in hand and a smirking, glimmering expression on his face, Dean flinched away, instinctively hiding the Mark from sight. "You'll _never_ get me," he hissed. "Not again."

The demon smirked, then cast the knife aside. "We don't need your permission to turn you, Dean Winchester. The Mark of Cain says it all for you."

Dean blinked, one hand coming up to rub at the Mark. Surprisingly, or maybe not, it wasn't hurting him. Not like it usually did. When he'd been alive, it'd burned painfully into his arm, causing him pain at every hour of the day. After he'd killed Abbadon, the pain grew worse. It got harder and harder to deal with every time he touched the First Blade.

Now he was in Hell, without the First Blade. He could feel something putting pressure on him, could _feel_ something pressuring his soul, but there was nothing he could do. His soul, what was left of it, shivered. Cain had become a demon, he remembered. And then the demon's words fully sunk in.

He was going to become a demon, too. Maybe he would even surface not too long after he'd died. Deep in Hell, still mostly unscathed but afraid nonetheless, Dean Winchester let out a cry of pain and fear. He'd gone after Metatron alone because he knew that he was either going to triumph against the angel or get killed, preferably the latter. Death, he wasn't afraid of. He could handle death, he'd even wished it had come sooner. But the Mark, the Mark prevented him from _dying_ fully, and kept him alive.

Alive was a funny word for it, he thought, looking down at his arms. The Mark stood out, angry and red against his skin, which was tinted slightly from the heat. He had manifested as he'd last appeared, in a blue plaid button-up with a blue overcoat. Blood stained both articles of clothing, pouring down from a wide, gaping hole in his chest that hadn't been healed. His hands were stained red with his own blood, and he could taste it on his teeth and tongue.

"You're one of us, now, Dean Winchester!" the demon from earlier crowed joyfully, waving the knife in front of his face with a dark, gleeful expression.

The words echo in his mind. _One of us, one of us, one of us, one of us._

For years, us has just been him, Sam, and Cas. The three of them, together, beating the odds and carving out their own destiny. 'Team Free Will' is down a man, now, Dean thinks with an odd flash of anger.

"I'll never be one of _you_," he hissed, glaring at the demon.

The demon merely laughed, carelessly holding the knife out in front of himself. "You can't deny it forever, Dean-o. Sooner or later, everyone turns. Eeeevvvvvvveeerrrrryyyyyyooooonnnnnneeee." The demon's laugh echoed through Hell, bouncing off the crimson and black walls. For a brief moment, every other sound of Hell, the screaming souls and the shouting demons, was drowned out by the sing-song quality of the demon's voice. The demon cackled and then disappeared, leaving Dean alone, rubbing at the Mark of his arm and desperately hoping Sam could find a cure for demons.

-Time Skip-

After the first demon, none show up to bother Dean. He saw some, sure, but they didn't talk to him and he kept his mouth firmly closed. A few dared to meet his angry, accusing glare, but their gazes drop immediately and they hurry out.

They're afraid of him. The demons, demons of Hell, are too scared of Dean Winchester to even look at him longer than a few seconds. If Dean wasn't so afraid of what he was turning into, he might have thought about laughing. He was a hunter in demon territory, Dean should be afraid of them.

Then again, he himself was a demon now. Or at least, mostly demon. He didn't feel any different, not really. His soul felt battered, but he definitely still felt like he _had _a soul. He still felt like Dean Winchester, still felt, well, human.

The Mark throbbed once, as if to remind Dean that it was there, and Dean winced. He hadn't known what it was like to be _human_ in a long time. So what, he felt as human as he did previously. There was a reason he was in Hell, and it wasn't just 'cause he was a bad person. The Mark had twisted him, twisted him into something less than human and only now was he paying the price.

Looking into his soul, which still felt surprisingly _there_ for being a demon and all, Dean knew that he was screwed. No way out, no way of weaseling out of this one. The Mark had changed who he was, and now he was something he hadn't wanted to be.

_His vision was gray around the edges, chest heaving and eyes drooping closed as he leaned against the wall, head pressed uncomfortably into the concrete behind him. "I's for the bessst," he groaned, hardly able to get the words out. "Th' Mark, it's changing me into som'thin' I don' wanna be."_

Dean blinked, and the gray changed to red. Instead of a flashback, he was back in Hell… not comforting. He wondered if that was a normal thing for demons, and then cursed himself as he so casually thought of himself as one of _them._

He wanted out. Dean Winchester wanted to leave, wanted to go back to Earth. Hell, he would probably end up at the wrong end of some hunter's knife, but it was better than wallowing the time away with demons too afraid to even look at him. He didn't want to see Sam, or Cas, because they were pure and good, and he was an abomination. He didn't deserve any leniency they might offer him, or any hesitation they would give him because he'd once been someone they had trusted.

He hoped to whatever cruel and capricious God was up there that he wouldn't run into them if he ever _did_ return, but he figured he would probably run into Cas. Maybe, even, Cas could still hear his prayers. Dean was too scared to find out if the angel could still hear him, but he doubted it. Demons weren't meant to converse with angels, and vice versa. But maybe, just a tiny part of him wanted to be able to talk to his best friend again, to laugh at his dumb 'pop culture savvy-ness'. But that could never happen. Cas was a freaking _angel,_ and Dean… he wasn't the Righteous Man anymore.

Dean sighed, rubbing at the Mark out of habit. He blinked, suddenly, and felt something _tug_ at his broken soul. It was insistent, and powerful, and Dean couldn't resist. It was scary, it was strange, but Dean struggled against it and tried as hard as his fledgling skills would allow to stay.

He heard the tone of Crowley's voice before he actually heard what he was saying. He sounded uncharacteristically melancholy, like something had genuinely upset him. There's something there, also, something Dean can't quite place, and then Crowley's voice becomes louder and he can actually make out what Crowley's saying.

"Listen to me, Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now, it's not death. It's life. A new kind of life." There was a pause, and he heard Crowley step closer. Dean had somehow lost his sight, and he couldn't move. He grimaced slightly, but he was fairly sure that the expression didn't show. What was going on? "Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. And let's go take a howl at that moon."

Dean's mind raced. _Open your eyes, Dean._ Oh, god, had _Crowley_ brought him back?

Probably.

Dean inhaled, relishing in the feeling of oxygen entering lungs that didn't need it but didn't object. He could tell, somehow, that he was in his own body, and he could tell his body hadn't healed. He was in a 'dead meatsuit', as he would, and he was back on Earth.

Dean's eyes opened with a flicker, and sight was given to him. Sight, and a "new kind of life."


	3. One of Them

**A/N: A big thank you to all that favorited/followed! I probably wouldn't have continued the story without all the support!**

**Although I did notice that you guys are an awfully silent crowd... maybe you should review, eh?**

**I have my issues with this chapter, but whatever. It's alright. I honestly have no idea where this is going to go after this, or anything, really, so... yeah. Whooo! **

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He didn't like this 'new kind of life' much. Everything was different, somehow, darker, harder to perceive and yet somehow easier to spot. He sat up slowly, wincing as his muscles tensed as he tried to move muscles he wasn't exactly used to moving. Inhabiting a vessel was different than just _being,_ he realized. It took more thought, more conscious effort to move and more focusing on the individual movements instead of the overall movements. Instead of thinking _sit up,_ he had to tense his own stomach muscles and lever himself up.

"Crowley?" he hissed, aware that his voice sounded slightly lower than it had before. He cleared his throat, coughed softly, then groaned. His throat _hurt_, and he was surprised that things like that could hurt. His chest ached, but that was reasonable.

"Are you done marveling at yourself, Squirrel?" Crowley snapped. He'd called Dean's name a couple of times, and the hunter-turned-demon hadn't responded.

Dean blinked, and his eyes went from pitch black from green. The weird grayness dissipated, leaving everything in his room much the same as it appeared when he was alive. "Huh?" he said, sounding once again, very human and not very demon.

"I _said_ are you ready to blow this joint?" Crowley was growing impatient. He'd brought Dean back so he could use his formidable powers, but now Dean was showing surprising human-ness. Something was wrong.

Dean frowned, blinking again and bringing back the blackness that covered his eyes. "No," he hissed forcefully. The lamp on the table flickered, the light bulb going off and then on again, sparking as the fuse blew and smoke floated up. "I'm not leaving with _you_."

Crowley's plan wasn't going so smoothly. He sighed, giving Dean the message that he was less surprised than he actually was, and vanished, leaving Dean alone with the smoking light bulb and his thoughts.

Dean's first thought, after Crowley left, was Sam. Oh, God. Sam had been there, had seen Metatron shove the angel blade into his chest, and the fact that he was in his room, in the bunker, told him that Sam had brought him over. His heart went out to his little brother, knowing from experience how much that hurt. But he was alive, right?

Alive. Hah. He was a pitiful replica of life. The black covering his eyes remained, and although he blinked it away, he could still feel the otherness of himself. He felt like an intruder in his own body, like something crammed in that shouldn't be there.

Dean sighed, a low, soulful sigh that expressed much of his inner pain. He stood up, aware of how strange the feeling was. Being a demon was going to take some getting used to.

Anyway, he had options. He could wait for Sam, wait for Cas, and with them try to figure out a solution. If he wasn't so afraid of them rejecting him, he would do it, because he knew that the only way he could find a cure was with them. But he really, _really_ didn't want to see the look of disappointment that would inevitably cross their faces when they saw his black eyes.

He hung his head down, unwilling and unable to leave, or get up and talk to Sam. He couldn't handle it, wasn't ready to handle the emotional upheaval that would come from confronting his brother and his best friend. With a sigh, he lifted his head and touched the door handle, wishing there was an easy way through this.

As soon as he opened the door, though, Dean realized that there was no choice in the matter. In the hallway, staring at the open door, was Sam, his brother, eyes red rimmed and face flushed from alcohol. "Sam?" He blinked, hoping his eyes remained green and clear. Sam looked as surprised as he was.

"Dean?" Sam seemed shocked and disbelieved.

"Uuuh…." Dean shifted, ran a hand through his short hair, and was surprised to find little flecks of dried blood in his hair. He pulled his hand back, then glanced down at his chest. His blue outershirt had been taken off, leaving him only the plaid shirt he'd been wearing when he died. The blood had dried in a stream down his chest, and he stared at it for a couple seconds. "Wow," he muttered, then met Sam's eyes again.

"Did… did Crowley bring you back?" Sam asked tentatively, reaching out to touch Dean's shoulder as if the youngest Winchester couldn't believe Dean was really there, almost alive and in the flesh.

"Don't think so," Dean muttered back, breaking the eye contact to examine Sam closer. He smelled of alcohol, and his face was flushed red. His eyes were watery, and Dean knew his brother was either drunk or almost there. It made him angry, knowing what his apparent death had done to Sammy, but he was… worse, but back. Sort of.

"Ho-how are you here?" Sam blinked sluggishly, yep, he was drunk alright.

Dean kept silent, but avoided making eye contact. Absently, he rubbed at the Mark. The urge to kill someone was much, much more manageable, but it wasn't entirely gone and Dean was scared that his new demon soul wouldn't be able to handle it. "The Mark wouldn't let me go," Dean answered, then winced. He'd revealed more than he really wanted to.

"The Mark?" Sam inhaled sharply. "The Mark of Cain brought you back?!"

Dean had intended to keep his demon-ness from Sam. But now, he saw that there was no way around it. "Mostly," he said, to buy some time while he shuffled awkwardly and considered smoking out, like he'd seen other demons do. But was bunker was probably warded against that, even for a Knight of Hell, and he didn't really want to reveal his secret like _that_.

"What d'you mean, _mostly?_" There was some of the famous Sam Winchester sass.

"Sam…" Dean trailed off. There was nothing keeping him from blinking, allowing the film to cover his eyes, nothing stopping him from showing Sam everything. But there was, because it felt so _wrong_. Dean had been the vessel of Michael, the angel warrior of God. He had been the Righteous Man of Heaven, and now he was a Knight of Hell.

Like Castiel, he'd fallen, and fallen so hard there was no way to crawl back up.

Sam had walked off while he was busy being an introvert, and returned with… Dean's heart sank. A bottle of holy water, a silver knife. The usual stuff they checked each other with. Dean permitted Sam to cut into his arm with the knife, but stopped him before the holy water.

"Sam, I need to tell you something." He took a deep breath, and steeled himself against Sam's only slightly drunk gaze. He blinked, once, deliberately, and allowed the black film to cover his eyes.

Sam practically screamed, and flung the holy water in Dean's face. Dean flinched, then looked at Sam.

"Sammy! Please! It's still _me,_ still me!" he practically begged Sam to listen, but he didn't. Sam fell away from him, shouting.

"Get _out _of my brother!" he shouted, anger lowering his voice into a passionate bass, making his face twist with concealed and not-so-concealed emotion.

"I'm not _in_ your brother!" Dean shouted, trying to calm down. If he lost control, who knows what he could have done? As a Knight of Hell, he'd rather not find out.

"Stop lying to me!" Sam screamed, eyes still furious.

"Sammy, _please!_ Listen to me!" Dean could feel himself losing it, and this was happening too damn fast and he needed to get out before something happened, and oh, God, the Mark was hurting him now and he wanted to curl into a ball and suffer, but the Mark stopped him and there were bright lights and loud noises but Dean couldn't absorb any of them as his mind blanked and he almost lost consciousness.

When awareness returned, he looked down to see the handle of Ruby's knife, sticking out from his chest. He reached up, slowly, and pulled the knife out, letting it fall from his grasp onto the ground, just like Cas had all those years ago.

"Sam, listen to me!"

"Why the hell would I listen to the demon possessing the body of my brother?" Sam shouted, eyes panicked now that the knife was no longer available to him.

Dean sighed. "I'm not possessing the body of your brother. Well, I am, but I'm not just some demon. The Mark brought me back as a demon." He chuckled dryly. "Trust me, I'm not any happier about it than you."

For one precious second, Sam seemed to calm down, eyes suspicious instead of threatening. "Dean?" he questioned, as if briefly allowing himself to consider the possibility.

Dean nodded, making sure to blink away the black film. "Sam," he said. He'd intended it to come out strong and confirming, but it was warped and emerged emotional and thready. Damn.

What little control Dean had managed broke, and it seemed as though, even after years in Hell and time on Earth, a dam inside him broke and he realized the implications of his curse. He'd been expecting to comfort Sam when Sam needed it, not to start crying and feel Sam's arms wrap around him. Sam, clearly, had accepted or shoved Dean's new issue aside, and he could see his brother needed help.

"I still don't really believe you," Sam whispered quietly, but his embrace around his brother's shoulder did not get any less tight. Dean couldn't answer, just relaxed in Sam's grasp and allow himself to feel all the emotions. Grief, sadness, anger, pity, horror, fear, wistfulness, all of it.

He didn't want it this way. He'd _wanted_ to die. He'd gone in expecting to either triumph or die, and he didn't care which one. He probably would have killed himself somehow when it was all over. But now it was useless. He couldn't die, because he was a Knight of Hell and because Knights couldn't even be killed by the First Blade.

Dean wanted nothing better than to just curl up and let the tears flow. He felt like, after over 35 years of pain and suffering, he could finally allow himself a moment, but he knew he couldn't. Maybe there was a cure for demons that wasn't Sam's blood, maybe there was some _hope _for him despite him not believing that at all.

He had to pretend, though. For Sam, who had pulled back and was holding Dean at arm's length away. For a long, long moment, neither of them said anything, merely stared at each other, hazel and green eyes meeting unflinchingly.

Dean broke the silence first. "Where's Cas?" he asked, determined to at least try to be one of them again.

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**Read and review! Next chapter, we get to see Cas and what he thinks of Dean's new sunglasses!**

**JULY 10th UPDATE: In lieu of the Season 10 synopsis that's recently been revealed, I'm thinking about rewriting it to fit that. But the jury's not yet out. I'm sorry about the lack of updates, I had a huge bout of writers block (which I still haven't really gotten over yet, but it's not as bad).**

**See you soon, I hope.**


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